Possession
by marenubium
Summary: Brief but relevant flashback to Sheldon's childhood. Slightly a/u. DARK Sheldon/Penny


Memaw always said he had a temper. "Moonpie, you can be meaner than a sack full of rattlesnakes when you get the devil in you." She would give him a sad, knowing look, then a cookie.

When he was eight, old enough to tower over the other children but not old enough to escape Easton Elementary, he'd been working on a model (which would look eerily similar to the Hadron Collider, if seen by a present-day physicist) from folded construction paper and classroom paste. Rather than participate in the inanities of recess, a kind teacher allowed him to stay in the classroom - unsupervised - to work on his model. "I've never seen a child get in less trouble than you, darlin'," she drawled and, on instinct, reached to muss his hair...catching herself mid-motion. They stared at one another for a heartbeat, her hand hovering between them, before she quickly turned and left the room.

For months he labored in quiet contentment. When feeling especially whimsical, he would whistle Vivaldi to himself and smile.

As the term progressed, the other children grew more and more curious about the shrouded form on the back table. Protective of Sheldon and his work, his teacher had told them they mustn't touch someone else's things and forbade them from disturbing it without his permission - something Sheldon would never give. This only fueled their curiousity and the growing suspicion that he was somehow the recipient of an unknown benefit that they - at recess - were excluded from. One afternoon, two of the biggest boys separated themselves from the pack, sneaking back into the building to get a look at Sheldon's work. They saw him leave the classroom and head in the direction of the bathroom...alone, a privilege reserved for the middle school boys, and fiercely coveted by all of the elementary classes. Jealous now as well as curious, they slipped into the room and moved to the back table.

A child's version of "The Four Seasons - Winter" died on his lips as Sheldon walked through the doorway. The boy in red had the geodesic dome (which took him the better part of three weeks to construct) on his head like a crown and was waving the long, thin rail of his particle collider like a scepter at his friend, who was roughly marching army men across his delicately painted reactor. Fists clenched, he shouted, "You can't touch that! _Those are MY things!" _and ran at the two boys. Their faces registered shock, then anger. "Let's see you stop us!" taunted the boy in red. Sheldon and he grappled for the fragile rail, the other boy backing away from the two. When it ripped, the struggling boys froze. The color drained from Sheldon's face as he looked at the sad, sagging form. "You _broke_ it", he said in a soft, horrified voice. His face pinched as he met the other boy's eyes. "You BROKE it." he said again. The rail forgotten, he shoved the boy in red, who tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground. He was too surprised to do anything but watch as the tall figure crouched over him. "No one touches _my_ things..." Sheldon said flatly as he sunk his fingers into the other boy's hair, carried on a wave of adrenaline and cold fury.

The second boy had already reached the classroom door when he heard the first sickening _crack_, impossibly loud in the empty room. He ran down the hall, desperate to make it to the school yard and his teacher. Through his hitched sobs, he heard what he thought must be the rhythmic thud of his feet as he ran or his pulse, pounding in his ears, but the tempo wasn't quite right. _Crack...crack...crack...crack..._Neither the child he was nor the man he would become had a working grasp of the word "methodical", but - if explained - both would readily agree that the sounds had been precise, deliberate and systematic.

...xxx...xxx...

It was the pain in his hands that brought Sheldon back to himself. He squeezed them experimentally and felt them ache. Looking down, he saw they were covered in blood - whether his or someone else's he didn't know. He shuddered and resisted the urge to wipe them on his favorite pair of brown corduroys. From the ground he heard crying. "There-there, Penny..." he said absently. "There...there." Tearing his eyes from the _unsanitary_ and, at the moment, _unresolvable_ mess of his hands he focused on Penny's huddled form. She was on the ground, hugging the brick wall of the alleyway - despite the heavy shadows, he could see how her hair hung askew, her makeup running, her dress torn. Beside her another form laid crumpled. A pool of something bright and wet had formed beneath the figure's head, but his rods and cones were insufficient in such dark conditions to tell him anything more. _That's odd_, thought Sheldon, _I can't recall it raining recently_. With a mental shrug he reached out to help Penny up and grimaced, seeing his hands. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether it was worse to touch Penny or his trousers with them. Finally, unable to watch, he wiped them off as best he could on his pants and leaned down to offer the fallen woman the cleanest part of his arm. Penny stared at it for a moment, eyes wide, pupils dilated, and then grasped it weakly. A tremor slipped through Sheldon at her warm touch but he held his resolve, grasping her arm with his free hand as he hauled her up.

"Perhaps we should be getting home, I know it was late when _I_ left..." Sheldon wasn't sure what facial expression was appropriate given the current situation, and settled on the strained smile he perfected for Raj's People Magazine award. Penny wasn't looking. She walked in a daze, letting Sheldon lead her. _At least I won't have to attempt "small talk"_, thought Sheldon with some relief. A block away from the apartment, Penny said softly, with the slowness of one suffering from head injuries or shock, "Did you call me _yours?" _

Sheldon's steady pace faltered briefly and then resumed. _"_I'm sorry, Penny? _What?"_

For the first time, Penny looked at him. Confusion was plain on her face. "When you pulled him off me... I _know _you said it." She stopped walking and turned to Sheldon, searching his face for some hint of acknowledgement or recognition. Hesitantly, she went on, "You said, 'No one touches _my _things'." He suppressed a flash of fear and then pulled them along again, breaking her stare. "Penny, you are _clearly _suffering from some sort of head injury. Perhaps even _shock_." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. In her current state she was more than impressionable, he could see the self-doubt in her already. "_Everyone _knows that situations of high-stress render memory a meaningless jumble of sensory imput. It's already fading in your mind, is it not?" His heart seemed to beat at thrice its normal rhythm; he was taking a risk with that last bit.

She nodded, and raised a hand to her temple, wincing. While her eyes were closed, he softly sighed in relief.

...xxx...xxx...

Not sure if this was a one-shot or if there's somewhere else to go with it. I _do_ have some ideas. The damsel in distress bit is cliche, I know... but I just couldn't help myself. :D

Also, was there any time in the fic that you thought Sheldon had done harm to Penny? I'm curious... I wanted to make the story more equivocal, but this was how it wanted to be told, apparently.


End file.
